


Wildflowers I

by bonoffee



Series: Wildflowers [1]
Category: U2
Genre: Gen, M/M, Multi, baby!u2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-14
Updated: 2012-01-14
Packaged: 2017-10-29 12:40:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/319977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonoffee/pseuds/bonoffee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Adam is safe. Adam doesn’t make fun of Larry. Adam is eighteen and everything Larry wishes he had the confidence to be."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wildflowers I

**Author's Note:**

> The first in what will probably end up being a little series. I like writing snapshots of how they might have been, once upon a time, and that's really what this is, on this occasion in the baby!U2 era.
> 
> Thank you to melissa2u for her help with a few dates and details!

  


The four boys are traversing a rocky path that hasn’t seen footsteps in years. Wet weather has made the route slippery, and concentration has descended upon the troupe as each member tries to ensure he doesn’t fall down the steep decline. It’s more than once that somebody curses with fright at a sudden skid. They’ve been walking for dozens of minutes.

“My feet hurt. And I’m cold.” Larry, wide-eyed cynicism and masses of fair, shaggy hair, scuffs to a stop at the bottom of the hill, folds his arms, grumbles a bit. He isn’t one for a scheme that has no apparent purpose.

“Don’t be a brat, Lawrence.” Bono’s cheerful reproof sounds a long way off; he is, unsurprisingly, at the front of the line, leading them towards his Great Idea.

Larry wants to answer back, but he doesn’t because he looks up to Bono. Bono is older, Bono  _knows_  stuff. Bono is endlessly interesting.

It is 1978, and Larry is sixteen.

“M’not,” he mutters, too quietly for anyone but himself to hear. He wishes now that he’d argued more strongly for The Larry Mullen Band. Picking up his feet again, he decides to focus his eyes on Adam, who is walking,  _swaggering_ , in front of him. Elegant clouds of smoke ascend past Adam’s blonde curls and dissipate into the low-hanging air. Adam is safe. Adam doesn’t make fun of Larry. Adam is eighteen and everything Larry wishes he had the confidence to be.

“I wonder, Bono, if you are familiar with a phrase involving pots and kettles and the colour black.” Adam’s lazy, drawn-out accent makes the ordinary words seem alluring, and Larry shivers without knowing why. 

Situated between Bono and Adam in the line, Edge chuckles. He says nothing, but Larry can hear Bono become less noisy, as if Edge has flicked a volume switch. The unconscious power balance fascinates Larry; he observes it daily, usually from behind his drumkit. Bono seems to respect Edge in ways he doesn’t anyone else, which strikes Larry as odd given Edge’s quiet, unassuming personality. Larry  _likes_  Edge, certainly, but doesn’t find him particularly exciting, especially when compared to Bono or Adam.

The weather is good for April and warmth filters through the trees, sunlight occasionally hitting Larry’s face and causing him to squint. A couple of times he stumbles and almost grabs the back of Adam’s kaftan to steady himself, but refrains from doing so just in time. He doesn’t want to be scrabbling around, holding onto people like a child. If everyone else can stay upright, so can he. 

“Almost there!” Bono’s spirits sound lifted again as he strides ahead, pointing to something in the distance Larry can’t quite see. “You okay back there, Larry?” 

Larry scowls. “Fine,” he calls back, slightly mollified when Adam glances back and throws him a wink, making him feel conspiratorial, special. He hopes that later, Adam will show him how to smoke, because then Bono won’t be able to laugh at him. Bono can’t smoke properly at all.

In a little while, the boys arrive at their destination. Larry doesn’t spot it at first, being at the tail of the line, but the victorious, excited shout from Bono tells all. It’s been six weeks since Bono first started going on about the rundown cottage in the forest he’d discovered while messing around (probably in lieu of attending classes) and this is the first opportunity they’ve had to get down there together. Sleeping bags and musical instruments in tow, the four of them have given excuses to their families and pretended to be at band practice all weekend. Really, they’re running away from real life for four days.

The cottage is more than rundown. It hasn’t been touched for years and there’s an odd echo that whistles around the stones it’s made from. Larry hopes the others don’t notice that he just shuddered. He doesn’t believe in ghosts, of course, but the place is eerie nonetheless. 

“Don’t suppose there’s running water, Bono.” Adam, dropping his sleeping bag on a dry patch of grass just by the front door, lights another cigarette and watches the shorter boy with a steady, amused sort of gaze. “Or electricity. Or a roof.”

Everyone looks up in unison. Larry realises Adam was only half-joking, since there is, in fact, only half a roof. 

“Not all of us are used to luxury, Ad’,” Bono replies, grinning in that way which alerts Larry to danger. Seconds later, Bono has the front door open and is beckoning the others inside. Edge goes first, taking both his bag and Bono’s apparently-forgotten one. Larry glances at Adam, who hasn’t moved from his spot, and follows Edge into the house.

There is no hall, just one big main room with what was once a fireplace in the middle of one wall, and nothing but two wooden chairs for furniture. Adam’s assessment of the property had been correct, naturally; the light doesn’t work and there is no heating. The windows are bare and rather dirty, and Larry wrinkles his nose. He prefers his surroundings to be clean and tidy, although why he bothers when he’s friends with Bono, he’s never quite sure.

“It’s not bad, is it?” Bono is over by the window, peering out at the trees. 

“Depends how you define ‘bad’,” Edge replies good-naturedly, smiling at Bono to diffuse any offence his comment might have caused. “Good thing I came prepared, though.” Edge sits down, cross-legged, on the dusty floorboards, and begins to rummage in his bag, producing candles, matches, various tins of food and what looks like a toolbox. “I can sort that light, I think,” he muses, getting to his feet and disappearing into the next room. 

Larry looks at Bono, who is looking back at him expectantly and asks, “Well? What do you think?”

Larry shrugs. “It’s cool. I mean, it’ll be fun, right?”

Bono laughs, grabbing Larry in a hug from behind. “Of course it’ll be fun, Larry! When do you  _not_  have fun with me?” Roughly letting Larry go, he practically sprints out of the front door, leaving Larry alone in the dank room for a couple of seconds until Adam saunters in.

“Not exactly a palace, Lawrence,” he says, as if somehow Larry has anything to do with the fact they’ve ended up here. Larry frowns as he watches Adam put his bag down and sit on top of it, arranging himself so that he looks as if he sits on bags every day of the week.

“Take it up with Bono,” he retorts, folding his arms and going over to the window, watching a small bird flit about the trees. Sometimes being near Adam isn’t a good thing, because Larry ends up feeling strange. And Larry doesn’t like feeling strange. He likes things to be as normal and straightforward as possible. 

Adam sighs. “I already have. He seems to think this is our idea of fun.” There is some rustling and Larry assumes Adam is smoking again. “I take it we’re sleeping in here. The master bedroom.” More rustling, and Larry turns out of curiosity. He is taken aback to see Adam, naked except for what looks like a long skirt, unrolling his sleeping bag, cigarette in mouth. 

Larry wishes Adam would put some clothes back on. After all, there is no heating in this house and for all the pseudo-sun it is still April in Ireland. And the place is filthy. And Larry has a funny lump in his throat that won’t go away unless he stops staring at the sparse blond hair on Adam’s chest. 

Larry turns back to the window and waits the thirty seconds or so the lump takes to dissipate. He doesn’t know what his reaction means, but he’s not comfortable with it and so resolves never to dwell on Adam’s chest again.

“I’m pretty sure I can fix --” Edge’s soft voice trails off as he walks into the room. “Where’s Bono?” 

“Outside,” Adam replies, and Larry glances over his shoulder to see Edge heading for ‘outside’ to track Bono down. It’s clear Edge values Bono’s opinion – or praise – above that of Larry or Adam, but Larry isn’t surprised. 

In the year or so he has known the three others, Larry has come to terms with the way their relationships work. Bono and Edge talk and plan and write lyrics and are always together these days. Adam drifts in and out and fits with Larry in the rhythm section but never stays there too long, content to be on the outside. That leaves Larry uncertain. Sometimes he thinks he and Adam could be real friends, but there’s an age gap and Larry is wary of Adam’s experience. Bono treats Larry like a younger brother, always joking and shoving and ruffling hair and it’s annoying because Larry wants to be equal, especially since he started the band in the first place. Edge doesn’t speak to Larry much beyond his normal civility; there is no deep bond of affection between them and Larry occasionally wishes Edge would go away and stop being Bono’s best friend because then there would be a real vacancy for Larry to fill.

Larry wanders around the room until he arrives at his sleeping bag, which he starts to unravel a good, safe distance from where Adam is situated. From his rucksack Larry takes out a small pillow, a primus stove and a warm jumper his mother gave him last Christmas. 

“Good idea,” Adam says from on top of his bag, watching Larry. “I have a feeling it’s going to get chilly later.”

Larry finds this an odd comment from someone in nothing but a flimsy skirt-thing (which Larry decides is definitely turquoise), but he says nothing. He looks up when Edge and Bono return, smiling about something.

“Edge is a genius!” Bono announces, clapping Edge on the back. “He’s going to get us light!”

“I knew we were friends with you for a reason,” Adam comments, smiling at Edge. Edge smiles back, a faint pinkish tint to his cheeks, and Larry feels a funny sort of urge to stamp on Edge’s toes. 

“Looks as if we chose a good friend in Larry, too,” Edge says, nodding to where Larry is sitting on the floor in front of his small audience of possessions. “That stove’s a great idea. Can we all use it?”

Edge’s gentle, unassuming question makes Larry feel slightly guilty for wishing violence upon him, and he nods. “Yeah, course. If Bono doesn’t burn the sausages.” He can’t resist smirking at Bono’s resulting indignation.

“Slurs on my good nature, Lawrence! I’ll have you know I’m an excellent cook. I’ve only been responsible for food poisoning twice.” Bono says this with pride, his arms folded.

Adam raises an eyebrow. “All the same, I think  _I’ll_  take responsibility. I’m not sure we have sausages, though.” He drops his cigarette on the floor and stubs it out. 

“We do. I brought some.” Larry is secretly thrilled to see the surprise and delight on his compatriots’ faces as he delves into his bag and produces a packet of sausages, a large tin of baked beans, a few bags of crisps and some chocolate. “That okay?”

Bono slides onto the floor beside Larry and plants a sloppy kiss on his cheek. Larry glares at him and backs away. “Larry, you’re a genius, too!” And then he’s off with Edge to check out the fuse box. Adam is grinning at Larry, his funny upside-down grin, from his languid position.

“What?” Larry demands, feeling entirely uncomfortable now. He rubs his cheek self-consciously.

Adam shrugs. “Nothing. Just, for a moment there you looked almost relaxed.” He stretches, and the weak ray of sunlight that is struggling to pass through the window illuminates Adam’s tanned stomach. Larry feels the lump in his throat again, and wonders why that keeps happening to him. It’s only Adam showing off. It’s stupid to want to  _cry_  because of it.

“I, I am relaxed,” is what Larry says, somewhat defensively. “I’d be more relaxed if Bono didn’t leap on me all the fuckin’ time.”

Adam chuckles, the sound of it starting deep in his throat. “Yeah, I can understand that. Can you pass me the sausages and that stove? I’ll get started on making us a decent meal before Bono decides he’s head chef and kills us all.”

Larry stands and carries the required materials over to Adam. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

“My mother taught me when I was younger. Sebastian, too. She said she didn’t want her sons to be useless husbands.” Adam smiles, more to himself than Larry, it seems. “I’m not sure she realised it’d take more than a well-made lasagne to make us marriage material.”

Interested, Larry sits down on the floor beside Adam’s bag. “Don’t you think you’ll get married one day?” 

Adam, using his matches to light the stove, shrugs again. “I’ve no idea. I suppose I will, if I meet the right person. But I’m not pretending I find it appealing right now. I’m a little young, and besides I quite enjoy the freedom of being able to sleep with whomever I choose.”

Larry is, as usual, amazed by how grown-up Adam sounds for an eighteen-year-old. He talks like he knows what he wants, even if his words are sometimes unsure. Larry is also fascinated by Adam’s openness, the way he admits to wanting to sleep with people. Larry has never had a sexual experience with anyone; at sixteen, he has barely been kissed. He doesn’t discuss sex at home, especially not with his parents, and as a result he’s come to think of it as something to be kept secret. But Adam  _doesn’t care!_  Larry wonders if he might be able to ask Adam questions about… well,  _things._

As it turns out, Adam asks the next question. “You want to get married, do you?”

Larry doesn’t know what to say. He’s never given the issue much thought apart from listening to his mother talk about ‘when you’ve a lovely wife and family’. So he says, “Everyone else does.”

That makes Adam chuckle. “No, they don’t, Lawrence. You think they do. And even if they did, that doesn’t mean you have to. Have you ever had a girlfriend?” 

Ordinarily, Larry would stutter and blush at this, because he’s ashamed of the fact he hasn’t. With Adam, however, things are a little different; he can sense it, he can tell Adam isn’t going to judge him or make him feel stupid or snigger with Bono behind Larry’s back.

“No,” he replies, simply and honestly. “I snogged a couple of girls at a party once, but…” His eyes follow the sausages as Adam places them in the pan, where they sizzle. 

“Well, it’s difficult for you to know if you want to be married. You need to experience falling in love, Larry. Or at least have sex with a few people, get close to them, find out what you really want. It’s nothing to worry about. You’ve plenty of time.”

Larry ponders this for a few seconds, wondering how long it’ll take him to find out what he really wants. He’s sixteen, sure, but he doesn’t like being in the dark about his future. 

And then he finds the courage to ask Adam a rather personal question. “Have you ever fallen in love?” 

If Adam is angry at Larry for prying, he doesn’t show it. He keeps turning the sausages, leaning over the stove a little more. “No. No, I don’t think I have.”

“Sorry.” Larry is apologising for his question rather than the answer, although he’s not sure if Adam realises that. 

“Don’t worry about it.” Adam looks up and gives him a reassuring smile. “Would you mind taking over here for a second? I need to piss and I’m not sure there’s a functioning toilet around here.”

Larry takes the spoon from Adam (without asking where the spoon came from) and prods the sausages a few times while Adam goes out, presumably to find a tree. It’s not long before Bono and Edge come in looking for food.

“Don’t tell me we’ve to suffer your culinary skills,” Edge remarks as he steps past Larry and the stove in order to unroll his sleeping bag. He’s chosen the corner directly opposite the one in which Larry has set up his things, which unnerves Larry for reasons he doesn’t know. Edge is someone Larry can’t quite figure out and subsequently, it’s difficult for Larry to trust him properly. Right now, for example, he’s watching Edge for signs of his latest words being light-hearted, but Edge is sitting on his flattened sleeping bag, engrossed in his guitar. He appears to have forgotten Larry is even in the room and at that moment Larry finds he has no wish to serve a reminder.

“Lawrence! Pay attention to the pork!” Bono swoops down and tries, unsuccessfully, to snatch the spoon from Larry’s grasp. “I don’t want charcoal for dinner, thanks. I’m starving, y’know, I’ve had a busy day organising you lot and showing you this incredible holiday cottage. I mean, would it have been too much to expect a tiny bit of gratitude from my friends?” Bono sits back on his knees and pouts, a tangle of black hair falling over his left eye, his freckles prominent from being out in the sunshine most of the day.

Larry snorts. “Gratitude? For what? For leading me into this mucky old ruin for the weekend, cooped up with you three lunatics? Yeah, thanks for that.” He thinks he’s doing what he’s noticed Edge doing sometimes, being all deadpan and dry and just beyond sarcastic, something which Bono picks up on immediately and reacts to in a similar vein. But when Larry sneaks a glance Bono’s way, he’s pretty sure Bono hasn’t understood this at all. In fact, he looks rather hurt.

Unfortunately, Adam comes back inside before Larry has a chance to explain what he meant, and by the time the spoon has been returned to its rightful owner, Bono has flitted across to the other side of the room, to Edge. Their earnest profiles, so close to one another as they talk in low voices, are handsome in the weak sunlight heaving its last few breaths through the dusty window. Larry watches them, feeling something unnameable gnaw inside his belly, wondering if putting that notice up in school had been a good idea after all.

*****

It’s later in the evening, after the sausages and beans have been eaten with enthusiasm and accompanied by Bono’s cheap cider, and Larry is outside. The sky is colourful, all pinks merging with purply-blues and hazy tufts of cloud as the sun sinks low, in the process of handing over watch to the eager moon. A wind is raised through the trees and ruffles Larry’s hair just before it gives him goosebumps. He closes his eyes and when he opens them again, Bono is standing right beside him. This doesn’t give Larry a fright; he’s kind of been expecting it to happen. He takes a deep, steadying breath and turns to Bono, who isn’t looking at him.

“I’m sorry.” The words are quiet and meaningful and Larry hopes Bono realises just how difficult apologising can be for him, and not simply because it’s an admittance of guilt. Parts of life that seem everyday, such as thank-yous and compliments and sorrys, are in fact ways in which people open themselves up, letting a little more light shine on how they really feel, and this makes Larry vulnerable. He hates revealing too much, but because it’s Bono he’s taking a gamble.

Next to him Bono shakes his head. “It’s okay.” 

Larry frowns. This isn’t enough. He’s going to have to say it again. 

“It’s not okay,” he replies. “I’m sorry. What I said… I didn’t mean it. Not how it must’ve sounded. I wasn’t… I was trying…” He shrugs, tearing his gaze away from Bono’s nose, concentrates on dislodging a stone at his feet from its earthy bed. He decides there is no point claiming it was supposed to be funny, because it wasn’t; he isn’t Edge, after all. “I’m glad you brought us here. It’s a good place. And maybe tomorrow we can set up the instruments, mess around with a few songs.” He looks at Bono again, hopefully, but when Bono eventually meets his eyes, he isn’t smiling.

“I know it’s stupid, Larry. And dirty and boring and pretty fuckin’ useless. I was sure you three’d all tell me where to go, say ‘Bono, fuck off, we’re not wasting time down there’. But, well, you came with me and none of you ever said that. Not even Adam when I reminded him he shouldn’t bring the good china.”

Larry knows it is okay, now, and chuckles. “He still sneaked in a silver spoon.”

Bono’s eyes widen. “I  _thought_  that’s what it was! The filthy aristocrat!” That sets both of them laughing a bit longer, and then Bono sighs. “It’s just, I need to take my mind off things sometimes. Being away from home, it helps. I don’t feel so… insane. Like I’m going to end up in a gutter one day.”

Larry doesn’t know what to say, but he knows what to do. He knows what Edge would do. He places his hand on Bono’s shoulder and gives it an almost imperceptible squeeze. It’s impossible for him to imagine how Bono feels, having to go back to a house where his mother is no longer waiting to greet him, and yet he finds it surprisingly easy to offer comfort now instead of remaining awkward. Bono needs him,  _him_ , if only for this brief time, and he’s not going to ruin it.

“You won’t be in a gutter,” he says, his words coming out in a funny sort of gruff voice that breaks a little. It’s a measure of how much he’s come to care about Bono that he pushes any usual embarrassment to one side and keeps going in the face of puberty’s dastardly tricks. “We have a band, remember? I didn’t advertise so we could arse about doing nothing and, and leave you in gutters, okay? I feel it when we play together, like, I feel we have, I dunno,  _something_. And once we really make it, that’ll be cool.” Hopeless ending, but it’s better than he’d expected, particularly when Bono steps closer and hugs him, rests his chin on his shoulder, kisses him on the cheek, moves back. 

“Thank you,” he says simply, and without another word heads back towards the house. A couple of minutes later, Larry follows.

  



End file.
